Above Temptation Page 18

  “I’m disappointed,” she said aloud, “that this is all turning out to be so impersonal. It’s sort of anticlimactic, you know?”

  Tam blinked. “It feels a little personal to me.”

  “Of course.” She flushed. “I meant that it’s about the work, not the people. I was geared up to discover a personal vendetta. ‘My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father…’ That sort of thing.” She chuckled at herself. “I guess I was hoping for a little of that spy thing. Practice my Secret Service act.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Whereas on Monday we’ll probably be pushing a lot of papers at FBI agents and going back to work on other things.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Tam said slowly. She leaned back in her chair, her expression serious.

  Kip let her puzzlement show. “You make it sound like an order.”

  “Because that’s what it is. On Monday you go back. You cooperate.”

  Her heart stilled. “Why does it sounds as if I’m doing that alone?”

  “I have to go some place.”

  “Not without me.”

  “Kip, if you go with me you’ll look guilty. You will, in fact, be committing a felony with people who have no sense of humor.”

  “Like what?” She put her hands in her lap to hide the sudden tremor of fear.

  “I can take the risk for myself. I have more to lose. And I want Vernon Markoff to rot in prison for the measly seven years he’ll get. He ruined the retirements of thousands of people. He deserves punishment and I’m not going to roll over and let him screw up a prosecutor’s case.”

  Kip realized that Tam had probably been smoldering with anger all along, but this was the first time it had bubbled to the surface. “What makes you think I feel any less strongly? That’s why everyone I work with does their job. We’re a bunch of meddling, righteous Boy Scouts—and Girl Scouts,” she added. “Let me help you.”

  “Seriously, you want to travel under a false ID? Lie to a customs agent?”

  Kip gaped. “You’re going to that bank in the Bahamas! Are you nuts?”

  “It’s really the only way—not the bank. The manager. I need the piece of paper, not a copy, and if I wait, it’ll be gone.”

  “The FBI can get to it faster. They’ll just ask a counterpart in country, from the embassy, to do it.”

  “But they won’t make it a priority. As fast as we think they’re moving on their information, we both know if this was a violent robbery and not white-collar theft, they’d push every angle of cooperation from other jurisdictions—and that original piece of paper would likely be secured. But this case is not a priority for resolution. They’ll expend resources to question and box me in so that I’m still here when they do make actually understanding and solving the case a priority. If I go there, it’ll probably end up making them more interested in securing evidence, too.”

  Kip didn’t know what to say. Tam was telling the truth. Prosecution of white-collar crimes was slow in part because law enforcement had scarier stuff to deal with. She had worked on cases where evidence had dried up because the Feds didn’t get there in time, even when an SFI investigator had set up neon pointers right to it.

  “You’ll look like you’re fleeing the country. The Bahamas instead of Brazil. Leaving Seattle unexpectedly looks bad enough.”

  “So be it. I’ll be back before anyone truly cares.”

  “How will you pull this off?” Kip closed her eyes to think. Tam knew someone who could get her a fake license so she could board a plane?

  “What you don’t know you can’t withhold.”

  No, Kip thought. I want to see this through to the end, she told herself. She no longer had any suspicion that Tam was guilty, but the rest of the world would think so based on the evidence that the FBI and a court would accept. “Everything you procure is going to be tainted. My evidence is going to be ruined the moment you touch it. This is not the part where the lone hero sends the sidekick to safety. I don’t care how tall you are, you are the sidekick here.”

  Tam snapped her computer shut. “There’s no point in arguing. My mind is made up.”

  Kip gritted her teeth. “You think this is arguing? You ain’t seen nothing yet. Where are you going to get fake ID? Do you know how long it takes? I even know how they’re made and how to spot them.”

  “What I know is that anything can be bought if you have cash.” For the first time Tam looked uncertain.

  “You need me and my Secret Service handbook. You need someone whose been in the field recently,” Kip said, not bothering to hide the triumph in her voice. “I actually know someone who knows someone who can have two decent looking driver’s licenses in twelve hours.”

  Okay, that was a bit of a lie. She was guessing Buck knew someone. She added, “And I know someone who knows someone who’s a private cargo pilot. Flies out fresh seafood and the occasional grunge band to a gig. Would probably hop us to Boise. It’s not the kind of information you’ve been seeing in reports.”

  Tam chewed on her lower lip. Kip could tell she was unhappy. “I don’t want you to lose more than you already have.”

  Kip let the silence stretch, not sure that the truth would help. What was the point in saying that she had so much more to gain than to lose when all basis for the statement was from her irrational heart and really uncooperative body?

  She opted for the other truth, the one that shouldn’t have been but was vastly less important to her now. “You’re still my suspect. I’m still trying to prove you’re guilty…or not. I can’t justify to anyone letting you go anywhere on your own. I show up Monday morning without you, knowing what I know? The FBI isn’t going to want to hear a word I say until they catch you. I know I’m already guilty of bending my job more than I should. I’ve already violated the SFI code of conduct a half dozen ways, but deciding on a course of action and seeing it through is going to fly better than looking like I didn’t have a plan. Like I let my intuition…and, and well, other feelings…run right over the facts.”

  “And this is your plan? Go down the drain with me?”

  “If I have to.” She’d go anywhere, she thought, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “Don’t ask me to be less than I am.”

  “Let’s get one thing clear then.” Tam wasn’t smiling. “I’m not your sidekick.”

  Kip didn’t smile either. “We each have our own agenda and needs, so okay. If you’re not the sidekick, neither am I.”

  They went back to work in a stony silence that Kip welcomed. At least it meant her libido wasn’t operating and that made it easier to think. She plunked another employee key card number into the internal database, pulled up the employee social security number and mined the credit bureau site for banking references. No brand-new vacation homes, no out of country travel, blah, blah, blah. Another dead end.

  Just like with numbering exhibits, she kept at it, search after search, methodically crossing names off the list and noting every result in her work log.

  She was forty-six names down and eight to go when she hit a snag. Frowning, she tried the search on the key card again.

  She broke the long silence with, “I’ve got a key card that’s not linking to an employee.”

  “That’s not possible,” was the clipped reply.

  She said nothing as she rhythmically drummed her fingers on her keyboard.

  “It’s not supposed to be possible,” Tam finally amended.

  She read the key card number to Tam, who quickly confirmed her findings then muttered about the transmission speed of the connection. “Someone inserted the key card number into the database and then turned off the warning. Clumsy again—sooner or later someone issuing key cards was going to realize that the card-employee matchup safeguard wasn’t working.”

  “Whoever this is knew they only had to hold the scheme together for about two months.”

  “So that’s all been no help at all. Person unknown with a fake key card gets into the account
ing file area and does the doctoring of the paper statements.”

  Kip nodded. “The time stamps of the card use are after hours—but not middle of the night. They’d look like someone working late. Of course, now that I’m looking, I see that the card was never used during working hours. So this is our insider: Jane Smith. Not a clue how we could figure out who that really is. Likely a woman, but that’s little help.”

  “We’d have to find the card. Damn—one big fat dead end.”

  “So…”

  Tam looked at her inquiringly.

  “You got a swimsuit?”

  She pursed her lips. “I refuse to laugh.”

  “Oh, c’mon.” Kip’s stomach growled. “I might not be the sidekick, but sometimes I’m the quirky comic relief.”

  Her reward was the tiniest twitch of one side of Tam’s mouth. It was enough for now.

  “Burgers, and I know where there’s a land line. I can make a call to someone about the IDs we need.”

  She wasn’t sure what Tam was going to say, but her stomach growled loudly enough for Kip to hear, right on cue. Burgers it was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Listening to Kip on the phone with her sister Kim had given Tam new insights into how Kip had become the woman she was. Listening to her wrangle with some guy named Buck was another revelation—and quite entertaining.

  “I know you know someone. You watch Dark Angel every night, same episodes. The electromagnetic pulse is coming, so don’t tell me you haven’t figured out a way to get out of town under another name. No, but I’ll give you a finder’s fee later. No, you have to wait for it.” She listened.

  Just when Tam thought Kip’s eyes couldn’t roll any further back in her head, she snorted and said, “What part of ‘I need a fake ID in a hurry’ don’t you understand? I don’t have time to drop off a muffin basket and shower you with cash. I’ll make it up to you. You know that I’ve never not come through for you.”

  Kip glared at the phone. “Yes, this is a Girl Scout thing. So where is this artiste? Lake Oswego, you mean in Oregon? No, I don’t know of another one. Address? Oh please—give me a break. A winery? Your sister?”

  Kip gave Tam an incredulous look. Tam hoped her skepticism showed. “Call me back at this number. Land line of course. Who did you think you were dealing with?”

  The number for their order was called and Tam returned to the car with a fragrant bag of fried goodies just as Kip got in as well.

  “So he’s calling his sister, who apparently is actually a winemaker, but makes a little ka-ching on the side with candid photography. If this works out, it’s actually good news. The charter I was hoping we could buy our way onto flies out of Portland from the municipal airport. We have to share space with crates of shellfish.”

  Tam considered every word Kip was saying, weighing the possibilities, but she was somewhat distracted by the sound Kip made when she bit into the burger. Their dinner was good eats, she quite agreed, but that sound… If Kip made noises like that over good food, what would she sound like over something even more pleasurable?

  Tam would hate to be compared to a bacon burger and found wanting.

  Not that anything was going to happen, she reminded herself.

  Kip made the noise again.

  At least her worry that she was dragging Kip into a bad place had her thinking like a boss again. She was the responsible party, ultimately.

  The phone rang and Kip shoved her food onto the dashboard and hurried to catch it. “Thank you for calling me. Yes, that’s what I’m looking for.” Kip glanced at her watch. “By eleven at the latest. Okay. Well, since I’m asking for fake IDs I’m not sure what my word is worth. Oh. I see. Well then, I swear on the soul of Martina Navratilova.”

  “What was that about?” Tam gave Kip an amused glance.

  “Seems Buck’s sister is a dyke and the only reason she’s willing to do this is because her brother vouched for me as a Sapphic Sister. Like he has any way of knowing. We have to go tonight. Right away sort of tonight.”

  “Why tonight?”

  Kip said, with exaggerated patience, “Because it’s crush and she can’t take any time for it tomorrow.”

  “Crush?”

  “Grapes, wine, barefoot women stomping around in vats.”

  “I see.”

  Around a mouthful of burger, Kip said, “Soon as I’m finished I have to make another call.”

  “I’m impressed with the way you’ve handled our illegal transit.”

  Kip let out a choking laugh. “I’m shocked at myself. My hands aren’t even shaking. Maybe breaking the rules is like smoking. You stop hacking up a lung after the first couple of tries.”

  Tam smiled. “I think you won’t get addicted to it.”

  “Dunno.” She chewed thoughtfully. “It’s kind of fun.”

  “Really?”

  Her expression was a funny mixture of uncertainty and chagrin. “Don’t get me wrong. I do like my job. I like solving riddles and puzzles—and catching bad guys. But that’s five percent of the job. The rest is slogging work. It’s papers and numbers and sorting things out. It takes skill and fortitude and attention. Not everyone can do it. But sometimes it’s dead boring.”

  “I agree with you—this at least isn’t boring. It beats reading reports.” Sitting in a car with greasy burgers next to Kip was easily the most enjoyable experience she’d had in a long time, and the feeling had nothing to do with work.

  * * *

  Her stomach appeased, Kip went back to the pay phone, digging for more quarters. She was glad when Jen didn’t answer and for the first time was happy to hear instead Luke’s voice.

  “Jen’s not here,” he said promptly. “She said she was sort of worried about you.”

  And you’re not, Kip commented to herself, but that was hardly new. “Actually, it’s you I wanted to talk to. I was wondering if you could give me the name of the pilot you know. The one in Portland.”

  “Dave Coopersmith? You looking for a bunch of fish?”

  “No, a flight. Quickly.”

  “Is this going to come back on me? Like—I don’t know what’s up, but Jen’s worried and you’re not answering your cell phone. I saw that woman you work for on the news.”

  Kip was willing to bet that by news, Luke meant the gossip show. She’d seen nothing on the serious newsfeeds, though every day it seemed like the dividing line between news and gossip got thinner and thinner. “I’m okay—just having to do some unusual things for a case.”

  His voice was gruff with emotion. “I hope so, because, like, Jen and I want kids and I can’t get pulled into anything. I got friends I can’t see because it’s not good for Jen or me anymore, and I like the job I finally found at this recording studio. If you’re not gonna be good for her then—”

  “I just need the name and a number. You don’t know why. You’re only speculating.”

  “Guys like me, that’s all it takes with the cops. But you’re not the type to drag us down, okay, I get that. And, like, I don’t help you Jen skins me alive.”

  Oddly touched, Kip repeated, “I just need a flight, quick.”

  “Here’s Dave’s number—and it’s okay to tell him I gave it to you. He’s usually happy to see cash, like, who isn’t?”

  She fished out more quarters and introduced herself to the sleepy sounding male voice who answered the phone at the number Luke had rattled off.

  “Luke sent you? You just need a hopper? I’m going to Boise and Helena tomorrow morning. Leaving at about seven a.m. after the catch is in.”

  Grateful he’d given her his plans before she admitted she had none, she said, “We were hoping Boise was on your itinerary. That’ll be great. Just two people, couple of suitcases.”

  “Okay. Hey, I don’t take credit cards.”

  “Cash is fine.” They agreed on four hundred for the two of them and she went back to the car, very pleased.

  Tam seemed impressed again. “You are the Jason Bourne of this vehicle. I bo
w to your connections.”

  “I wish I deserved credit. It’s not one I ever thought of as useful. My best friend’s boyfriend is someone I pretty much wrote off as a loser. Nice enough, but not going anywhere and her paycheck is the only steady one. He wants to be the next Kurt Cobain or something but I think he’s getting past that.” Kip was impressed by the way he’d tried to protect Jen and their future from anything untoward. Jen with kids—made total sense and a kid could have a far worse father than a laid-back musician. “I’ll have to be nicer to him in the future.”

  Tam started the car, even though Kip wasn’t finished with her food. “We have to hustle, don’t we?”

  “If we don’t waste any time, we could be at the nearest store that carries suitcases and the like before they close. Our flight is at seven a.m.”

  “Ouch.”

  Kip licked her fingertip free of salt from the french fries. Greasy goodness. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  Tam sounded a little tense. “Not very active at that hour.”

  Back at the cabin they quickly tossed what they needed back into shopping bags and packed up their computers and paperwork. Thinking ahead, Kip knew they both needed a little bit of tropical weather clothing, but that was a detail that could be solved along the way.

  “What I’m most worried about,” she told Tam as they put the last of their things into the Cherokee, “is getting from Miami to Nassau. Customs isn’t going to be easy to fool, not these days.”

  “I have an idea there,” Tam said, following her back into the cabin. “I don’t want to do customs at the airport. We can get from Boise to Miami if the IDs are good enough. Cash for our tickets isn’t going to get noticed the way it will in Miami, either. But counter agents and screeners in Miami—and Fort Lauderdale—are looking for cash users, drugs and illegal entry out of and into the country. I think we’d get caught.”

  Kip made sure the stove was tightly shut, forcing the last of the embers to safely die, then checked the back door to be sure it was locked. The perishable food they wouldn’t be able to eat she put in the freezer, knowing she’d have to deal with throwing it out when they came back.